


Sometimes You Lead, Sometimes You Follow

by notaverse



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 13:26:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notaverse/pseuds/notaverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Idols have to speak, have to win fans with their words as well as their performances, and as polished as Jongin is in the latter, he's a clumsy colt when it comes to the former.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes You Lead, Sometimes You Follow

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:** Sometimes You Lead, Sometimes You Follow  
>  **Fandom:** EXO  
>  **Characters:** Kai (Kim Jongin)  
>  **Rating:** G  
>  **Disclaimer:** Not mine, damnit.  
>  **A/N:** This was supposed to be a nice little drabble (100 words) and then a voice inside me said, "You know, if you can stretch it to over 500 you can use it for hurt/comfort bingo's 'humiliation' square!" So that's what I did. Title's from 'Life's a Dance' by John Michael Montgomery.

Head down, don't look, maybe the camera won't notice he's there. But Jongin knows that's a fantasy.

It's not his breath he's trying to catch but his balance, something that comes so naturally to him when he dances yet is a struggle to find when there's a microphone under his nose and an audience full of fans eager to hear him speak. It's not that he wants to deny them. He's not deliberately playing coy. That's not his role. He's - no, _Kai's_ \- the "sexy" one, sliding shirts off his shoulders to make the girls scream, hooking fingers under his tank top to expose smooth skin beneath. Jongin can do that - when he dances.

There's no audience then, only freedom of flight and perfect, controlled movements, each one locked into a rhythm he knows by heart. No faces staring up at him, searching for signs of weakness he's not supposed to show, only the stretch of well-trained muscles and steps light enough to keep him dancing forever. He lets his body talk for him and it says all the right things.

But being an idol's about more than split-second timing and teasing flashes of skin. Idols have to speak, have to win fans with their words as well as their performances, and as polished as Jongin is in the latter, he's a clumsy colt when it comes to the former. What's the right answer? What's he supposed to say?

He can train his body to remember steps but no matter how hard he tries, he can't train his mind to produce those typical idol answers on cue. His stomach tightens, guts tying themselves in frozen knots as everything clenches up, body no longer loose and supple but an enemy he doesn't even know how to fight. His heart pounds in his chest as the moment approaches; time for him to open his mouth and hope nothing too humiliating spills out of it. 

Here and there, an important word makes it through the haze of nerves. He fills in the wide, gaping spaces with too many feelings and an awkward smile, bright as he can manage, then lets himself crumple when he realises what he's just said, what he's just done. Head-in-hands time again, screwed-up eyes concealed by fingers he wishes could cover him completely. Maybe if he spreads them wide enough the shadows will fill in the gaps and hide him from sight.

Embarrassment can be cute. People offer him sympathetic smiles when he winces at himself and older women want to pet him. But 'Kai' isn't the cute one. He's not supposed to be self-conscious, not supposed to feel eyes boring into him with all the intensity of a dentist's drill every time he's within sight of a fan.

Too late for that. Jongin likes it best when he can forget he's constantly under surveillance and just be himself. He sees the photos online later, of his uninhibited, natural smile and a sparkle in his eyes that dims a fraction when he knows the camera's there and he has to talk in front of it. It's not intentional. He could never be like Chanyeol, who can't bring himself to be anything less than bright and infuriatingly happy for the fans, even if he's tired or unwell, but he also can't spend the rest of his life stumbling over his words and hoping his best will somehow be good enough. This is his job, this is what he wants to do, and he's a professional.

Supposed to be a professional, anyway, though it sure doesn't feel like it on the days when he trips up over his own stage name. He's no actor, that introducing himself as someone else comes naturally to him - and Kai _is_ someone else. Kai is someone he needs to be so he can keep pieces of Kim Jongin for himself. Kai is a persona he creates from slick, sure moves and every piece of advice he's ever been given; Kai is a bone to throw to the fans so Jongin can escape without teethmarks on his skin.

If only Kai could talk. If only Kai could open Jongin's mouth for him and answer questions with the same grace he has when he performs. Jongin could filter every thought, squeeze it into the right shape for the situation and send it out into the world, secure in the knowledge that it won't sound stupid, won't embarrass him, won't have his bandmates ribbing the hell out of him for the rest of the week. He knows he's got nothing to be ashamed of - they're all in the same boat, all suffering the same indignities in the name of entertainment - but it feels awful, nonetheless, when everyone can see exactly how awkward he is. And he's not even the youngest, though he's not too far off.

Age isn't an excuse. They're growing up fast - too fast. Jongin's a bratty kid who reads manhwa and plays games and sometimes has to be steered through airports when he's half-asleep. He's also a dancer, both trained and talented, with a body any young man would envy. He wonders what kind of an adult he'd have become if he'd never started learning ballet.

Probably not the kind he's becoming now. He wouldn't balk at cameras or be startled by bursts of confetti. He'd lay out one word in front of another, and then another, and somehow they'd all make sense. He'd wear suits, not spangles, and he wouldn't dance, except maybe a little in the clubs after dark. He wouldn't have anyone ranking him last for his total inability to make sweet, winsome faces that he's never going to need.

And he'd probably never leave Korea, either. Never travel to foreign countries for concerts, never have fun beating the others at games to get out of dorm chores, never practise till he's half-dead from exhaustion and every muscle screams at him to quit but he can't because this is what he does and it's the best feeling in the world when they're all perfectly in sync.

He'd miss that, he thinks, even if he never even knew it to miss. His body would be drawn to the music, moving of its own volition to the beat; no training, nothing but helpess - _hopeless_ \- desire. Jongin can't live his life as a statue.

So if doing something he loves comes at the cost of doing something he dreads, there's no contest, really. He'll do what he can do, and do it well, and the things he can't...he'll try. He'll roll his hips and bite his lips and endeavour to remember who he is, who he's supposed to be and what he needs to say to make it through to the next stage. If every word is another step, enough of them strung together make a solo and maybe then he'll be able to perform the whole routine without faltering.

If there's one thing Jongin knows he can do, it's dance.


End file.
